Thief in the Night
by united states of fail
Summary: In which the author jacks the characters and the basic plot premise and takes it places them places they were never intended to go. Not for those who actually enjoyed the books...
1. Prologue

A/N: A few words of warning...or the what, and more precisely _why..._

Left Behind has the potential to be a really awesome book series. However, it fulfills none of that potential and instead opts for preachy, anvillicious morals and bad characterization. The only thing holier than the self-righteous Christians is the plot itself. I shit you not, these are the worst books (technically, book- actually, the first few pages of the first chapter of the first book) I've ever had the displeasure of reading. They are somehow worse than Twilight, and ought to win some sort of Darwin Award for killing off brain cells.

With that in mind, I'm going to fix it. I intend to take the characters and the very basic plot premise and completely revamp them. The characters will be so OOC they won't be able to touch canon with a 10 ½ foot pole.

Trust me, it's a good thing. If you've got a problem with it, blame Tim and Jerry for completely botching what could have been decent action B-movie fodder.

Consider yourself warned. Here there be character development...

Disclaimer: I don't own this. At all. Except for Josh, and the E.E.s. And whatever happens to the plot, because hey. You want writers to stick to canon? Give them a story that isn't made of suck. Enough capping on it, and on to the story.

Chloe Steele was thinking about a man she had never had sex with. Though at this point in her young life, that included every man on the planet, this man in particular had managed to captivate her attention in such a way that she found herself daydreaming about his boyish grin instead of, say, taking notes on the rise of the Roman Empire. She wasn't aware of this, however, until her professor cleared his throat gently and she became aware of the titters of the various other students. Next to her at the large group table, Josh poked her in the side and grinned. He'd long been aware of her obsession with the good looking reporter, and in fact shared her crush on him (as well as any online photos they could get ahold of in their spare time). However, now was certainly not the time or place to be fantasizing over how to one day become Mrs. Cameron Williams, so instead she sat upright, apologized, and asked Professor Lane to repeat the question.

** "**Which biblical prophet is credited with the phrase the 'abomination that causes desolation', and to what does this phrase supposedly refer to?"

She blushed slightly and thought hard, racking her brain for the answer. She knew it, she really did. It was something, something to do with Israel...the Middle East...damn it. She (sort of) regretted spending the entirety of last night watching clips of his reports- wait! That was it! He had mentioned the possible rebuilding of the temple as yet another factor in the ongoing animosity in the Middle East in his report. She grinned confidently, and answered, "the prophet Daniel prophesied the 'abomination that causes desolation,' and it could either refer to Antiochus Epiphanes setting up an alter to Zeus in the temple in Jerusalem, or, according to some theologians, the temple will be rebuilt, and then desecrated by the Antichrist. Perhaps Jerusalem will be able to use some of their revenue from their heightened crop production to rebuild the temple soon."

"Very good, Miss Steele. And excellent job of tying it in with a current news report. Speaking of which, did anyone perchance happen to catch last night's news?"

Although the other students were frantically racking their brains for any news story they may have picked up between trying to party and frantically cram in reading assignments at the same time, Josh had the benefit of not only being something of a natural genius, but having next to no social life whatsoever. His hand shot into the air so quickly that he simultaneously nearly gave himself whiplash as well as nearly smacking Chloe in the face. "Chaim Rosenzweig, a Jewish botanist, has developed a new formula which is able to aerate the deserts in Israel, allowing for a massive expansion of their agricultural industry."

Professor Lane beamed. "Kudos to Josh, for actually keeping up on the news like the rest of us are supposed to, guys. He's right. Rosenzweig's formula is going to have extensive repercussions on the world's market in the coming years, and may actually be something of a step towards ending the food shortages in third world countries. I highly recommend everyone try and catch the second part of the special tonight. It's on CNN at 8:00. That's all for today, class. Have a great weekend, and see you all back here on Monday. No one party too hard."

As the class dispersed, stretching limbs that had nearly atrophied within the horrific four hour long class period, Josh suddenly stiffened and seized his friend's elbow. "Don't look now, but here come the E.E.'s," he hissed, weaving through the mass exodus of bodies heading out into the sunshine and dragging her along with him.

"Damn it. Are they headed for us?" She craned her neck, trying to catch site of their dreaded foe. "Yup. Here they come. And it was shaping up to be such a good day, too."

"We must have drawn their attention talking about the Middle East. Damn us and our big mouths."

Despite their best efforts to make it back to their dorm, which involved ducking into the nearby science center, skulking though the basement of the theater, and and one point, climbing a tree, the two of them were finally cornered in a broom closet just a few yards from their building.

"My! Whatever are you two doing in the closet?"

"Oh," Josh replied nastily, "you know us gays and feminists and our unholy penchant for closets. We were just inspecting this one to be sure that it was emitting proper homosexual fumes into the atmosphere to pollute the campus."

"Yup," Chloe nodded, "in keeping with our oh so evil homosexual liberal agenda."

The Evil Evangelicals looked highly saddened, but not necessarily shocked by this news. "We would expect those who have been deceived by the Great Beast to take such a lighthearted view on the evils of this world. Beware, that you are not lured to the pits of hell by turning your back on the one true God."

Chloe looked slightly bemused. "Exactly which 'Great Beast' might this be? I'm sorry, I'm not up on my biblical fairy tales as much as I should be."

"You know who. And the Bible is not a fairy tale. It is a collection of prophecies passed down to we who dwell in the End Times to provide guidance and instruction."

"You know who, eh? So we aren't discussing the Bible anymore; we've moved on to Harry Potter."

"The Lord will not be mocked," E.E. 1 practically snarled as she stood toe to toe with Chloe. The two of them had not been this close to one another since the sixth grade, during the epic round of fisticuffs that had brought their friendship to a bitter, if hardly untimely end. _Yup,_Chloe smiled as she prepared to deck the self-righteous broad in the face, _the scar from her glasses is still there._ However, E.E. 2 quickly stepped in and pulled her twin sister out of what quite quickly would have become an all-out brawl. Behind her, however, Chloe could still hear Josh cracking his knuckles, preparing to duel if necessary. He may have been gay, but that certainly didn't mean he wouldn't strong-arm a hoe when necessary.

"Listen," she snapped, hands on her hips. "Did you two have a reason for following us over here all the way from class other than starting shit? Because if you didn't, I'd like to get on with my day."

"We weren't trying to start anything," E.E. 1 countered. "That was all you two, trying to get hostile while we wanted to share the gospel with you-"

"How many times have we been over this?" Josh finally joined in. For the most part, he had been content to wait in the background, providing muscle if the argument had gotten ugly. But he had been preached at time and time again by the Evil Evangelicals when they both knew good and well that he was about as far from interested as it was possible to be, and he had made this clear time and time again. He had tried being polite. He had trying being sarcastic. But now he was about to try being pissed, and as much as Chloe really, sincerely wanted to see him bust one or both of their faces in for being such pricks, now was not the time or place for violence. She grabbed him by the arm and swiped her card in the key slot, shouting over her arm as she went. "Take your Christianity and condescension somewhere else. We higher life forms have got better things to do than have our IQ damaged from listening to you talk."

"Nice one," Josh complimented once the two of them were within the safety of their dorm lobby. "Higher life forms, eh?"

"Yeah, well, the two of them are barely one step above apes on the evolutionary chain. I think I'm gonna head upstairs to grab lunch and call my dad. Wanna meet tonight in your room to watch the special?"

"Sounds good. I guess I ought to call home as well," he said as the two of them headed for the stairs, passing up the elevator that had been out of order since 1997. "It's just that doing so totally ruins my day, you know?"

"Same here. I hate talking to my parents, but they're the ones paying for me to be here. So I get to call them once a week and have them foist their problems off on me."

"Don't you just love playing shrink to a couple of 40 year olds?"

At that moment, one of the 40 year olds in question was currently being straddled by a flight attendant in the front seat of his Mustang. He buried his face in her long, blond curtains of hair, inhaling the slightly citrus shampoo she had used that morning. Everything about her reminded him slightly of a citrus fruit. She was a tart, to be certain. He chuckled out loud at his inner comedian, causing her to pause for a moment in her frantic grinding to give him a quizzical look. "What's so funny?" she questioned, sounding vaguely suspicious. He smiled and shook his head. "Nothing, Hattie. Don't stop. I'm not finished yet." As he spoke, he grabbed both cheeks of her ass and squeezed, causing her to moan, arch her head, and return to her previous activity. However, before he could join her in her ecstasy, he heard the faint slaughter of Beethoven's Fifth that was his cell phone ringing from where it had fallen between the seats. Twisting slightly to fish around for it, his fingers finally closed on it and he drew it delicately, like a doctor performing open heart surgery, from the narrow crevice. However, his precision and delicacy was all for naught, as Hattie's adjustment caused her thigh to knock into his hand, where he promptly lost the phone to the black pit beneath the seat.

"Damn it, Hattie. It may have been the airline. What if they needed me to come in early for a flight?"

"Well, then I'm sure all the anxious businessmen just desperate to get to their meetings won't mind waiting while we finish up here. I'm sure they'll understand."

"Yeah, well you may not care overmuch about your job, but I've got a family to take care of-"

The ringing began again, somehow sounding more insistent this time.

"You get it. You reach down there and find it, and take your oh so important phone call. Your wife takes up all our time, and even when we get to be together, you're still focused entirely on your job. Do I really mean that little to you?"

There it was, the way her face soured up whenever she felt she wasn't being paid enough attention. There her mouth went, puckering up like a lemon. She looked ridiculous.

"Yup," he agreed as he extracted the phone and flipped it open, "absolutely nothing."

"Hey, dad."

"Hey. Make it quick, sweetheart. I'm on my way to work."

"Oh. Just wanted to say hi. See how things were going."

"Well, hi."

"Hi back."

"Look, Chloe, I'm really busy. Why don't you go give your mom a call? I bet she has loads of time to talk."

"Fine. Whatever. Sorry I took up your precious time."

Her temper, short at the best of times, had all but exploded by the time Chloe barged into Josh's room at eight. "That stupid, chauvinistic, imbecilic, blathering, stupid, senile-"

"I assume we mean your dad?" Josh interrupted from his perch in front of his Mac.

"I tried to talk to him! I did! He wouldn't give me the bleeding time of day! And then I call my mom, and she's all like, 'God's in control, honey, give it all to him,' and I'm all over here, like, 'no, Mom, he's not, because he doesn't fucking exist, and religion itself is a outdated mode of controlling people before there were established laws, and...just...aargh!"

While she gave herself over to screaming into a pillow, Josh continued browsing the internet with the television on in the background. However, his sudden shout quickly caught her attention as he began to practically dance with glee around the room.

"What are you so excited about?" Chloe asked, her hair staticky from her face-first pillow assault.

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," Josh nearly sang, "except Cameron Williams is totally in Israel and might be appearing in some of the footage tonight. But other than that, nothing at all-"

"OH MY GOD. WHAT? SERIOUSLY?"

"Yes, seriously," he replied as she grabbed his hands and started dancing with him.

"Your/my/our future husband's gonna be on TV! Tonight! And we're totally going to record this."

"Oh yeah. For sure. I've got blank DVDs in my room."

"Then what are you still doing here? It's 7:56! Go, girl, go!"

She raced down the hall, nearly plowing into her roommate at the door. "SorryKatecan'ttalkBuck'!"

"Er...bye?"

But by that time, Chloe was already on her way back up the hall. There was only one floor between her room and Josh's, but it seemed to take forever to get there. She found herself fervently wishing as she ran that she was either more in shape, or that someone, at some point over the last decade had given enough of a shit to repair the freaking elevator.

She crashed into the room at 7:58, and by the time the two of them had figured out how to actually record anything, the program had already begun.

"-turned this Desert into the Garden of Eden."

"HOLY SHIT IT'S HIM!"

"SHUT UP SO I CAN HEAR!"

The two of them held their breaths in anticipation as the man who they considered to be the greatest international reporter of all time, or as Josh had affectionately dubbed him, the GIRAT, stood side by side in a cornfield in the middle of the Israeli Desert.

"I'm here today in Israel with the man behind the Garden of Eden himself, Professor Chaim Rosenzweig. This professor of botany has created a formula that allows for the aeration of previously unusable soil, allowing for the fertilization of desert plains like the one we're standing in now. Chaim- may I call you Chaim?"

The older Jewish man smiled benevolently. "Only if I can call you Buck."

The reporter grinned back, and continued. "Chaim, how do you feel your formula will effect Israel and it's surrounding regions?"

"Well Buck, the formula has already has a large effect on the nation's agricultural economy. We are currently one of the most productive, fertile regions in the world, and who knows what effects this may have on the global market. As you are probably well aware, we are already economically viable due to our large scale weapons manufacturing, but with this formula, perhaps we can scale back the weapons program and focus more on feeding our hungry brethren elsewhere throughout the world."

"So you are saying the formula will be shared with your surrounding countries, as well as other third world countries throughout the world?"

"Well, Buck, that is an interesting question. While the formula is currently not for sale, we are considering allowing other countries have our secret for a price."

Buck smiled knowingly. "Oh yes. Everything comes at a price- is that the Air Force up there?"

The camera panned up briefly, showing hundreds of planes swarming overhead. There was a moment of confusion, someone swore, and the bombs started falling.

Safe within their dorms on the other side of the world, Chloe and Josh stood side by side, fists clenched. They knew the GIRAT couldn't hear them screaming to get out of there, but it certainly didn't stop them from doing it. The camera wasn't focusing on anything at the moment, as the camera man was probably running for safety along with everyone else, but for one moment, it focused on Buck as he ran, half-dragging, half-carrying the older professor alongside him. The explosions cast an infernal red glow to the scene, as if the whole thing were some play cast in the pits of Hell. But for all the noise and panic and fear, no one actually seemed to be hurt. They couldn't tell, due to the crazy angle of the camera. But every time it passed along the ground, it would show a myriad of shrapnel and burning, twisted metal...and that was it. No bodies. No Buck, at least. Suddenly, the view changed, and instead of it's non focus, it suddenly centered in on Buck himself.

"I'm here at Ground Zero of what appears to be a massive air invasion from an unknown enemy," he started, then screamed, "RUN FOR IT!" as a giant hunk of twisting, burning, angry metal came down and landed right where he had been standing. "The military was unable to launch any counteroffensive strikes against this unknown enemy," he continued with wild eyes and nervous glances over his shoulder in case of any more near misses, "but it appears that the enemy aircraft have simply started to, well, spontaneously combust." He giggled, sounded slightly hysterical. "Yes, folks, it would appear to be an act of God, or dues ex machina, if you will, has caused Israel's enemies to fall out of the sky for no apparent reason. All of them. And, better still, no one appears to be injured. No one on Israel's side, that is. I think whoever attacked is pretty much toast, literally-"

The screen went gray, then suddenly they found themselves staring into the CNN newsroom, where the anchor was doing his best not to lose it himself.

"Yes, folks, that was Cameron Williams in Israel, er, stay close, we'll bring you the news as it happens, er. Keeping them full and focus-I mean, keeping them honest..."

Chloe and Josh simultaneously collapsed on the bed. "Um."

"..."

"I'm going to go call my parents. I don't care if one doesn't seem to like me and the other wants me to be saved. I need them right now."

"It doesn't seem fair, needing them when they obviously don't need us."

"You know, we could totally die tomorrow. I mean, who bombed Israel? Could they come after us? What if something like 9/11 happened again?"

"Or like the E. E.s say. All the Christians are gonna get raptured, and we'll be left to live through Hell on Earth, and then real Hell for all eternity."

"Fuck that. You know what? Fuck all of it. Fuck my parents. Fuck your parents and their homophobia. Fuck all the E. E.s and fuck Heaven and fuck Hell."

"You're awfully fucked up."

"I just watched a bunch of planes with people on board spontaneously combust. How stable am I supposed to be right now?"

"Good point. Wanna hold off on calling our parents and get some pizza?"

"Sounds good. I'm always less combative on a full stomach."

A/N: Fairly on track with canon so far. The OC is an attempt to flesh out the main characters.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks to Calyn for the review! And yes, it is HIGH TIME someone did this. While I can't guarantee awesomeness, at the very least it can't possibly be worse than the original. And to everyone, sorry it took so long for me to update this. I know exactly where I want it to go, down to the end, but I just keep sitting down to work on it and getting distracted...*oh look, youtube video! Wanders away* But I do have a deadline, so I will be knocking this sucker out hopefully by the end of November. If not, I give you complete permission to come after me with tar and feathers and pitchforks...

Massive Disclaimer of DOOM: Hmm...let's see here: I don't own the majority of the characters, Concerned Women for America, CAPS, Campus Crusade for Christ, and any other trademarked items, organizations, or songs that can, may, and will appear throughout the chapter. Also, I stole the GIRAT acronym in the previous chapter from Slacktivist, who is only the greatest mocker of Left Behind of all time. Get ye over to his site and partake of the sanity therein. Anyway, any resembles to real people, alive or dead, means you must know some pretty F*d up people, and you have my deepest pity.

Now dim the lights, grab the popcorn, and pull up a chair. It's time for the show...

Buck was one of the most awkward human beings on earth, and he knew it. His feet were too big, he always spoke too loudly, and outside of interviews, never actually knew what to say to people that wasn't offensive in some way. It wasn't so much that he "bucked" tradition as it was that he couldn't follow social norms if they were a giant yellow brick road. How he had wound up one of the the most successful international reporters of all time was anyone's guess (including his), but most just went with the fact that he had gotten extremely lucky. Strong focus on the "extremely." He also had developed a knack for being in the right place at the right time, such as being sent out to do his first series on middle eastern warfare and its effects on global economy, and winding up being on site for the biggest story of the decade. At the moment, however, he was hiding in a bathroom stall in a desperate attempt to get away from his tyrant producer (the story would be in whenever the source decided to return his call, and not a moment before, damn it!) when his boss had stormed in, right in the midst of what appeared to be an extremely heated debate with his wife. Stanton Baily didn't have coronaries. He opened his mouth and spewed forth fire from Hell, hot, molten words that engulfed everyone within a two mile radius. Buck wasn't afraid of him, per say. It was just that the large, burly man brought back traumatizing memories of swirlies and larger boys calling him a fag and sending him home with ripped clothing and black eyes. With all sorts of horrible scenarios involving having to call his mother and explain why the new shirt she'd bought for Christmas had been destroyed, he opted to maintain his precarious perch on the toilet seat. He'd even left the door slightly open, so it looked like the stall was empty. Meanwhile, Baily, in his best J.J. Jameson impression, was bellowing that he would not, in fact, be able to come home this week for his son's birthday because the news didn't give a rats ass about birthdays unless it was the birthday of someone who actually mattered and that the boy ought to know that by now, he certainly did at that age, and what were they teaching kids in kindergarten these days if not about learning how to prioritize?

It was then, however, that Buck's head began to ache slightly, and he remembered that he'd had to skip lunch in order to go bang on his source's door (he'd been forced to leave a note with the doorman, but still, the effort counted...kind of...if you squinted) and the bag of chips he'd been forced to scarf down on the way back certainly hadn't been enough to tide him over till dinnertime. He would have been fine, however, perched as he was on the tank of the toilet with his feet on either side of the seat, if his stomach hadn't opted to pull a Judas Iscariot at the one second when Baily was forced to cease his diatribe in order to breath. The low grumble filled the bathroom like the snarl of an ancient beast awakened from its slumber, and due to the excellent acoustics of GNN's men's restroom, it echoed perfectly from wall to wall. Baily went silent immediately, sniffing like the bloodhound he so closely resembled. Buck could still hear him talking, though now he had dropped down to just below a whisper. "I'll call you back, Marge. The enemy's infiltrated the ranks."

All was silent for a moment or two, and Buck considered checking to see if Baily had decided to chalk the noise up to the pipework and leave. As he was climbing down, however, a crash resounded from the other end of the room. He jumped, his entire leg going from the calve down into the toilet bowl. After his heart started back up, he realized Baily was going down the line of stalls, checking each one to see if they were occupied by an enemy staffer. He wasn't in any danger of Baily's choice form of retribution for spies, which was to have them placed in a large box with air holes and fedexed back to their newsroom, but he still didn't want his boss to think he was in here spying on his personal phone call. So when Baily inevitably threw open Buck's door, apoplectic with rage, Buck simply smiled at him. "Hey, Mr. Baily, sir! Just in here getting away from Verna! You know how she gets sometimes..."

His boss visibly shuddered. "With her sensible shoes and 'don't say my name like that!' I'll say her name however I damn well please. It sure as hell isn't my fault her last name is Zee, and most definitely not my fault that it sounds like I'm calling her Missy."

Buck felt horrible about throwing Verna under the bus like that, but sometimes, you had to play the cards you were dealt. Stanton Baily was a homophobic asshole, but he was Buck's boss too, and Buck certainly hadn't managed to become one of the station's top reporters by having a spine. Besides, he was actually hiding from her, as she desperately needed to have his story in by 7 pm for it to make that evening's news, and it was 5:30 and he had yet to hear back from the source.

As he made his way back to his desk, trailing behind the larger and more impressive Baily, he could feel the glares of his coworkers. He was also entirely aware of how much he deserved it. Here he was, this nobody kid from Ohio who got hired to hold the boom mike and wound up getting assigned to the story of the century during his first actual series assignment. In the month since, Baily had taken him in as a protege of sorts, and while he still lived in terror of the gargantuan man along with the rest of the staff, there was no denying the boss had certainly been giving him preferential treatment. The trip to Israel had certainly been coveted among many of the more experienced, talented journalists, but Buck certainly wasn't going to complain when the opportunity had been presented to him. In hindsight, however, he sort of wished he had, as the experience had very nearly resulted in his death.

"Listen, Williams, I've got a proposition for you. Feel free to say no, but if you say no, I'll fire you. Just kidding, but really, don't say no. You ready?"

"I'm all ears, sir."

"My ex is all worked up because I'm not going home for the kid's birthday this year. He's like, five or something. Should totally know better than to expect me to come around every time he has a stinking' birthday. Nancy boy. But here's what I want you to do, okay? Here, here's fifty bucks. Go by the kid something, then I'm gonna stick you on a plane to Chicago, got it?"

"Er.. I've got a story I'm in the middle of working on for tonight, and my source hasn't contacted me back yet-"

"Just e-mail Verna with the necessary information when the source does get back to you. How many sources for the story do you have?"

"Er, five, sir."

"Five? That's plenty. Just say he was unavailable for comment. You'll be fine. Now get out of here, and get my kid something good."

Not bothering to point out that the same thing could be accomplished by either sending a check in the mail or buying a present and mailing it, Buck strolled out of the office whistling. It was going to be a good, good day.

Meanwhile, the E. E.s, whose actual names were Rachel and Maggie, were hunting for lost souls as part of Campus Crusade. It was a hot day, and the sun beat down upon their brow with biblical cruelty as they tried to win over people for the Lord. Most of the people they approached, however, just looked at them as if they were delusional, and then ran away as quickly as polite society allowed. It was rather disheartening to go up to someone with the intent of sharing the gospel and receive a pitying look and a mumbled excuse. It certainly wasn't helping matters that the Gay Pride Parade was taking place just off campus, and that a large majority of the student body had opted to take place in the festivities.

"Remind me again of why it is we're trying to save these people," growled Maggie, or E.E.1 as the two of them stumbled across two more guys openly snogging in broad daylight. "They deserve to burn in hell."

"They do, but so do we," replied E.E.2, aka Rachel, walking with her sister towards the dining hall. "We're also sinners, just like they are. Don't forget: there but for the grace of you go I."

"I know, I know. But the grace of you can only go so far if I can't seem to exhibit any self-control."

"Maggie, come on. You know that there is nothing that God can't do. He is all powerful. He can overcome our shortcomings and give us strength in our times of weakness. If we have faith the size of a mustard seed-"

"Preaching to the choir, little sis. All I'm asking is that they make our jobs a little easier by showing a modicum of self-control."

"Speaking of self-control, there's Josh. I don't seem to remember you exhibiting too much self control in our last meeting with him and Chloe."

"My, you're just full of wisdom today, Obi Wan. Tell me, teacher, are you really interested in saving Dear Josh's soul, or are you trying to turn him straight so you can date him?"

Her sister blushed slightly as they got in line at the Burger King in the hall. "I don't see how the two have to be mutually exclusive," she said earnestly. "If he becomes a Christian, he'll be straight. If he turns straight, I can lead him to the Lord. It's a win-win situation. Why don't you try to evangelize Chloe? I know that the two of you don't get along, but we are called to love our enemies as ourselves."

"I love her. It doesn't mean I have to like her, or for that matter, speak to her. Chloe Williams knows the gospel of the Lord. Either she'll come to it one day, or she won't. It's up to her at this point. As for me, I'm going to have the whopper value meal with a medium fry and a coke. Ketchup on the side, please."

Rachel stepped up and addressed the cashier, ordering the exact same thing except with mustard on the side instead of ketchup.

"You are so weird," her sister said, shaking her head as the two of them received their food and wandered off together to find seats.

Across the cafeteria, the object of Rachel's affections was sitting with his parents. It was the first time they had come to visit him at school, and he had decided to let them into his life completely.

"So, um, guys."

"Son, your mother and I would like to talk to you about the life you're living up here."

"...I totally wasn't about to say anything important..."

"We know that college is a time of experimenting, with the drugs and rock and roll, but we'd really feel better if you didn't."

"Didn't what? Experiment?"

"Well, yes. It's just your mom and I aren't entirely comfortable with the loose lifestyle you've been living. I mean really, boy, when was the last time you went to church?"

"Er... I don't remember..."

"See? That settles it. While we're up here, we're going to find a good church for you to attend. You know what the Israel incident meant. The kingdom of God is at hand, and if you aren't faithful to the Lord, you will be left behind. This school does have Campus Crusade, doesn't it? Have you considered joining?"

"You do realize they haven't even determined what happened yet? They're thinking it's a problem with the atmosphere over Israel, and I don't exactly have time for any more extra-curriculars, guys. I'm on two of the student papers, and CAPS-"

"What's caps?"

He stared at his hands, debating momentarily. But then, he just decided to say screw it. They'd kept him here over the summer, and he'd had exactly three phone conversations with them since he started school. They already didn't like him, so what the hell.

"CAPS is a lesbian/gay/bi/trans club for the students on campus who fall into one of the aforementioned categories."

His mother paled, and his father's face went a delightfully impossible shade of burgundy. "And where exactly do you fall within these 'categories'?"he asked, eyes narrowed into little piggy slits.

"Well, dad, I fall into the 'gay' category."

His mother made the first noise she'd made all day. "MY BABY BOY'S A FAG! WHY GOD WHY?"

"Keep it down, Marge! Do you want to make a scene?" However, his desire not to draw attention to their family didn't stop him from reaching across the table and grabbing his son by the shirt, yanking him close. "Now, boy, you listen here, and you listen good. God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, and if he'd wanted you to be attracted to men, he woulda made you a girl. Are you a girl?"

"God created Adam and Eve because if he'd done otherwise, the two of them wouldn't have been able to reproduce and the whole human race would have been screwed. With the massive rates of overpopulation in the world today, that's hardly a problem anymore. And no, I am not a girl. I'm a boy, and I'm gay, and I'm proud of it. Now let go of me before someone calls the police."

His father dropped him to the ground like a sack of potatoes, glared at the large audience they had managed to attract, and fled to the safety of the station wagon. His mother followed after him, taking the time to snarl through her tears, "You'll burn in Hell for this."

"Thanks, but I'd rather be there than in Heaven with you!" he shouted after them, before realizing he was standing alone in the crowded cafeteria. He felt like a piece on display in a museum, though most everyone hurridly went back to eating and obviously not looking. There the E.E.'s were, however, staring with pious pity. He wanted to wander over and crack their heads together. Instead, however, he settled for wandering outside and taking refuge under the Santa Lucia fir tree and wishing desperately that Chloe was there. "Boy would you love to see this," he thought, resting his head against the tree and closing his eyes.

As an upper middle class family, the Steeles had long been privy to the finer things in life. The Bentley and the Mercedes-Benz had been Christmas presents to one another, as an effort to smooth over their tumultuous relationship. However, these tokens of what may or may not have been actual affection didn't do a single thing for their relationship, and instead only provided them with new and more stylish ways to arrive at the same events in separate cars. Not that they actually went to the same events anymore. Irene was so involved with New Hope Village Church that she was there five days a week, and had considered taking on the newly available position within the children's ministry. She had also extended her recruiting to the Army of the Lord™ to her family, in hopes of bringing them back together through the power of prayer. However, with Professional Skeptic Chloe and Mr. Egotistic Libido as her would-be recruitees, this didn't go exactly as planned. Ray had initially assumed she was just going through some phase. It had to have been a phase. However, this was certainly lasting much longer than her decision to be a Mary Kay consultant (resulting in about twenty cases of makeup still stacked in the garage two years later) or her decision to become a professional groomer (resulting in thirty dogs running around the house and a trip to the emergency room when they found out Ray Jr. was allergic to them). So when she continued to attempt to cajole him into going to church with her, he started finding ways to avoid being there at all. Most of them were somewhat valid. Chloe was just starting school, and the tuition bill was beginning to cut into the family's comfortable lifestyle. So he began to work more, accepting longer and stranger hours in an effort to not be home. On one particularly memorable occasion, after a 15 hour flight from Chicago to Paris, he arrived home to find a large number of what he could only assume to be church friends over to cluck over some new branch of something. He had stood in the foyer, exhausted, pissed, and unable to decide whether he felt like cussing all of them out for being there. He was on the verge of doing so when Irene finally noticed his presence and hopped up to introduce him to the hens.

"This is Jackie, she's Elder Ham's wife as well as my recruiter for the Lord's Army™, and Madeline, she's the treasurer's wife, and Loretta here's the church secretary's wife, and Ella's engaged to Elder Darby's son, and this is Karen Barns, she's the pastor's wife..."

As they each waved as they were introduced, chirping little friendly "heys" and "hellos," Ray noted the way they all looked as though they were somehow...fading, for lack of a better word. Each woman, even Karen, with her dark chocolate skin, was the same sort of pale pastel with mousy hair and no makeup to speak of. Even the younger women, like Loretta and Irene, seemed so washed out. When had Irene stopped wearing makeup?

"So...are you getting back into sales or something?"

"Oh, no. We're starting a Chicago chapter of Concerned Women for America. Isn't it exciting?"

Ray found himself suddenly weary. "Um...what exactly are they concerned about?"

"Well, mainly preventing the deterioration of the American family due to women leaving the home and working, but specifically, the salvation of as many people as possible from an eternity in Hell, the upholding of the Constitution, marriage between a man and a woman, you know."

"So wait a second...you're women working to keep women in the home?"

"Well, yes. American society has declined because mothers aren't there when their kids come home from school, leaving them open to negative outside influences like sex and drugs."

He stood, slightly dumbfounded. These women actually _wanted_ to be repressed?

"So does this mean you're actually going to start staying home and cooking and stuff?"

She looked at him like he'd just grown a second head. "Of course not. I'm going to be too busy ripening the fruit along the vine."

He'd opted to go bang his head against the wall till he lost consciousness.

Irene's attempt (singular) to bring Chloe to the Light Side (we have Testamints!) had gone a little something like this:

Irene: God loves you, and he has a plan-

Chloe: I'm a lesbian feminist prostitute who's had six abortions within the last year alone and I donate plasma to get money to buy heroine.

Irene: Um...never mind...

She knew she was losing both of them. Chloe's hardheartedness towards all things religious was going to end very, very badly for her. It hurt to know she was going to die not knowing the Lord, but it hurt more to know that her daughter hated her so much that she wouldn't listen to something she knew was so important to her mom. She still mentioned the Lord whenever possible, even if it meant Chloe only called her once every few months. As for Ray, she knew. She knew about all the women, every single time he'd faked having a flight so that he could go spend the night with one of them. She may have been a ditz, but she wasn't so stupid as not to be able to go online and check and see if there were actually any flights going out when he said they were. The cell phones hadn't helped. She'd been keeping tabs on all of his texts, and she was completely aware of his latest fling with the flight attendant. But she wasn't going to interfere. The old Irene would have. But this Irene was made new, dipped in the blood of the Lamb. Nope, she let Him do her interfering for her. She and her girls would gather every Friday, and instead of drinking margaritas like all those other secular girl groups, they would pray for everyone in their lives.

"Dear Lord, we gather here today to ask you-"

"please help my son stop being a fag-"

"help my husband to stop being such a whore-"

"save my mother from her interfering ways-"

"and help us all to do your will, forever and ever. Amen."

She had been wishing plagues on their houses for two years, and it hadn't done a bit of good, until the night of Ramie's twelfth birthday. Everyone from church was present, with all the women gathered meekly in the corner while the large, beefy men slapped each other on the back and asked after one another's walk in the Lord. All the men, that is, except Ray. No, he was too good for his son's birthday, and had opted to do a flight to New York the day before. He should be on his way back tonight. She could just see him now, leaving the cockpit as he told his co-pilot he'd be right back, and ducking someplace quiet with that stupid flight attendant. She waved across the room as more guests arrived, bearing a large package that could only be Ramie's special request Bible man action figure, and jogged up the stairs to grab the camera. As she passed the dresser, she noticed Ray's phone among the clutter of her makeup and earrings. _Hmm_... she grinned to herself as she picked it up. _Missed message, Dearie? Let's just see who it's from this time..._

"What do you mean it's my baby?" Ray stared down at Hattie and her smug smile as she leaned against the counter in the small cabin, hands on her hips as if to say, "yeah, what are you gonna do about it?" In fact, she proceeded to say as much.

"Look, now is not the time or the place to be discussing this. I've got a plane to fly, and you just jump me with this news out of nowhere-"

"I sent you a message saying we needed to talk. You answered, saying this would be okay. Don't act like I didn't."

"I never sent a text saying that. I left the phone at home..." he stopped as he realized what must have happened. Well, it was about time she knew. As for Hattie, well, that was a different matter entirely.

"Well, are you sure it's mine?"

"What are you trying to imply, that I'm some kind of slut? Of course it's yours."

He could feel his panic levels rising. "Did you get a DNA test?"

She looked offended. "Why would I need one? It's not like I whore myself around-"

"You sure could have fooled me-"

"Look. It's your baby. You are the only man I've been with for the last two years. All I'm asking is for you to claim responsibility for what you did."

"What I did? You make it sound like I was the only one there, and if I recall, it takes two people to make a baby."

"So you are claiming responsibility for what you did."

"I'm saying we should wait till we're on solid ground to discuss this. If you don't mind, I'd just as soon as not have a bunch of people's lives at stake when being accused of something I didn't do."

"Fine," Hattie snapped, stomping out of the cabin to check on the passengers. "Don't think you're going to get out of this, Rayford."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was going to be a long, long night.

Chloe was late. Ridiculously so. Ramie's birthday party had started promptly at 4:00, and here she was, still a half hour away at eight. She may as well not go at all, for all the good it was really going to do. She was going to get reamed out, preached at, and witnessed to, in that order. Ah well. It was sort of her fault. She had made the drive home before, and knew how long it would take. She should have left earlier, but truth be told, she really did not want to be there. Putting off getting there for as long as possible was her none-too-subtle form of passive aggressive rebellion, something she knew would piss off her mom but she couldn't resist doing it anyways. Still, it was better than what her dad had done, which was opt not to show up at all.

She did, however, have some incentive to get there sooner rather than later. A full bladder did wonders for one's drive (pun intended). She was speeding along the interstate when the Volvo ahead of her slammed on it's breaks. Somewhere ahead of them, she could hear a series of screeches and the crunch of metal. For a moment or two, she considered getting out to see if anyone needed her to call the cops, but then the bystander effect kicked in, and she figured someone else would do it. Mildly pissed off that she was going to have to wait to pee, she reclined slightly in her seat and turned on the radio.

..._It's the end of the world as we know it..._


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry it took so long for the update. I've been a bit busy as of late, but I'll try to get on a more reasonable schedule. Thanks for the reviews, folks! Keep 'em coming! And awesome-demigod, the Slacktivist blog's where I got the idea for the story. And yes, these books are bloody terrible. Glad I'm not the only one who thinks so.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and the characters who don't show up in the World's Worst Books. If I did, I wouldn't be broke. =(

After swinging by his flat to grab his overnight bag, Buck set out on his mission to kiss his boss's ass as deeply and thoroughly as possible. This had involved strutting youtubdpurposefully into FAO Schwarz and promptly strutting right back out again. There was just...just so much _noise._ So much noise, and so many kids making said noise, and one of them was crying. In short, he found the situation extremely overwhelming, and proceeded to flop on a nearby bench while he tried to think of a game plan.

It was at that moment that Lady Fortuna decided to flash her pearly whites at him (it was more of a snarl than a smile, but hey, he'd take it). A boy with tousled red hair and freckles, complete with a band aid on nose, strolled down the street whistling some unfortunate song and scuffling his untied high tops. Buck grinned. Pure Americana. Here was a kid who he could trust to go into the store and purchase a suitable gift.

Here was a kid he could trust to take the fifty bucks and bolt. He chased him for about thirty feet and gave up, completely winded. Little ginger bastard. He stomped back to the bench, swearing to never again accuse parents who beat their children. Teach the little thugs a lesson. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Speaking of parents, hmm...

"Hey, mom, what's a good present for a five year old boy?"

He could hear her wheezing at the other end of the phone as she thought. Forty years of smoking had done horrors for her already unnaturally deep voice. When she finally replied, it sounded like the moans of a ghoul echoing from the subbasement of Hell. "Well, Bucky, you always liked those calligraphy pens so much. Why don't you get him some of those?"

He ran his hand through his hair . "Mom, most kids don't like calligraphy pens. Especially not when they're five. I was just weird."

"You weren't weird, sugar pie. You were special. You're my special boy. Don't ever forget that, sweetness."

"Yeah, mom. I know, I know. It's just that my boss wants me to get a present for his kid, so it's gotta be something really special, you know? Something he's gonna love."

"Well, then, Honey Bear, what are you doing asking me? To find out what a kid wants, you gotta ask a kid."

"...Mom, you're a genius."

"Course I am. Where'd you think you got it from, eh? Certainly not your father."

"Look, mom, I gotta go. I'm leaving tonight for Chicago, should be back in a couple of days. I'll give you a call when you get in, alright?"

"You'd better. Love you, sugarplum."

"Love you too, mom."

He hung up and strolled back into the store, reinvigorated and determined. He walked up to the first boy he found, and smiled politely at his mother. "Hey, can I borrow your kid for a second?"

The mother was too busy staring in open-mouthed shock (_Buck Williams is here! In the flesh! Talking to me! Nancy is going to be SO JEALOUS.)_ to do much more than frantically nod. Buck knelt down in front of the small boy, who couldn't have been more than five or six. Perfect.

"Hey, kid. If you could have any present in the world for your birthday, what would you want?"

The little boy, who's name was Aaron, blinked up at the tall, friendly looking man with giant brown eyes that would have been better suited on a puppy than a human. "I'd ask for my daddy to come back from prison and my sister to stop beating people up and my mommy to stop crying all the time."

Buck stared at him.

"Oh, and that robot over there."

Five minutes later he left the store, out seventy bucks (he'd felt compelled to buy Aaron and his even-more shocked mother_- "Nancy is just going to DIE when she hears about this!-_ an Erector Spykee Micro Remote Control Robot- in lime green- as well), but at least Baily's kid should be impressed. He smirked as he hailed a cab, thinking of the bonus he was definitely going to get come Christmas.

However, he was yanked out of his revelry as the cab shot onto the curb, taking out a mailbox and nearly crushing an old woman who was out with her shitzu. Instead of apologizing, the cabbie opted for, "Stay outta the way, ya old bint!" and to Buck, "Either git in or stop gaping loik a damn fool. I ain't got all day!"

Buck hopped in quickly, marveling at how the driver somehow managed to sound English and southern at the same time. There was another passenger in the car already, gazing out of the window at the bustling crowds as they went about their shopping. Although he could only see the back of the man's head, Buck found himself fascinated by the individual- with his hair, in particular. It was the lightest shade of blond he had ever encountered, the color of white gold.

"Eh, where you headed?"

"JFK Airport, please."

The man at the window turned finally, smiling. "Oh really? You too?"

" 'at's good. Otherwise I woulda had to toss you outta the car."

"Um..." The GIRAT was at a loss for words.

The other man shrugged. "I would just ignore him. He has been going on like that since I got in here."

Buck couldn't help but notice as he spoke that though he sounded very cultured and refined, there were still some traces of an accent. Something European, probably. Curious, he sought a way to find out exactly where this man, with his pale hair, and even paler gray eyes, hailed from.

"So," he attempted to segue into conversation, "coming or going?" He noted the man's posture, constantly erect with no hint of a slouch. That, in combination with his very precise use of English, radiated poise. Perhaps he was some sort of foreign correspondent or something?

"Well, I am headed back my university in Romania. I just completed an internship here in the

US. Where are you going, if I may be so presumptuous to ask?"

"It's cool. I'm headed to Chicago on a business trip. Are you Romanian, then? I noticed you had an accent, but it's difficult to place."

He chuckled slightly. It was a deep and throaty, like echoes of thunder before a storm. "Yes, my accent has been...watered down a bit, I suppose, from spending so much time traveling. My parents and I travel a great deal, and when I found out this position was available, I jumped at the oppurtunity. I have what you Americans call 'wanderlust,' I suppose."

Buck nodded. "I can sympathize. I travel a lot as well with my job. What exactly was your internship for?"

"Well, it's a part of the program they developed for Chaim Rosenzweig's formula. I'm here working with several other college students to come up with a feasible plan for distribution as part of my final semester of school. It's a very interesting opportunity."

"Ah. So you're just now finishing school? You seemed older."

He shrugged. "I had to work my way through school. It's taken a few extra years, but it's very important to me. Education is priceless, and I think that it will mean more for me to have paid for it myself. I'll definitely appreciate it."

Buck, now fully reclined against the window with his legs crossed, flashed the man a grin. "I understand completely. I put myself through school with two jobs and a paper route. It was just me and my mom, after dad left, and I got used to having to work for what I wanted. It'll do you good. What exactly are you majoring in anyway?"

"I'm studying political science. It's supposed to be a four year degree, but with the two extra years it took, I feel so much older than my classmates. You don't look that old yourself, yet you sit there dispensing device like your some sort of grandfather or something."

"Eh. You know how it is, what with me being a Jedi master and all. Young padoowan, stick with me, and I can show you all the ways of the force."

"...that was sort of creepy."

"Yeah...sorry. I've sort of got an off-key sense of humor. I tend to offend everyone I come in contact with."

The other man shrugged. "Laugh at everything, or laugh at nothing. So what do you and your oh so offensive sense of humor do for a living? Stand on the street corner and insult people? Hit on minors?"

"Basically, yeah. I'm a reporter. I do some international stories, you know. I've actually done a couple of pieces on the Rosenzweig formula."

"Really? You're Buck Williams, aren't you? I thought I recognized you from the news, but I felt sort of stupid. I didn't want to sound like a fan girl or anything. But you're a good reporter."

Buck could feel the back of his neck heating up. He of all people knew his reporting was sub par at best. Ah well. At least someone liked it, right? "Well, um, glad you appreciated it."

"Not a problem. I prefer GNN as my news outlet to stay updated when I'm in the U.S. I'm what you would call very far left leaning."

As the cab pulled up in front of the airport and they paid their fare, Buck prepared to hop out. However, before doing so, he was struck by a moment of uncharacteristic courage, and turned to his new acquaintance. "So, on the off chance that you're ever back in the U.S and would like to hang out sometime, how would I go about getting in touch with you? If that would be okay," he added quickly.

"Here," the man pulled a receipt out from his pocket. "Do you have a pen?"

"I'm a reporter. I always have pens."

As he scrawled his name and number on the back of the receipt, Buck leaned over his arm and read. "Carpathia? Like the mountain range?"

"Yes, like the mountain range. And before you start, I've heard all the various jokes, so you can stop that right now. I wrote down both my numbers, so you can reach me here or home. Give me a call if you're ever in Europe."

With that, the man with the pale blond hair dissapeared into the crowded terminal. Buck watched him go, leaning against the trunk of the cab. It was very..._nice_ view. His enjoyment of the local scenery was cut short by the cabbie, who had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire car ride. Gerald Geronimo McDoogle was no great study of human emotion, but he could tell when romance was brewing, and decided to let it simmer. He did, after all, have a heart (a very small, shriveled one, but it was there all the same).

"Yeh great southern poufter! Git your shit and get the 'ell off o' me cab! I got money to make!"

"Er, sorry..." He shook his head as he grabbed his stuff and headed into the airport. As he entered, he was instantly assaulted by a torrent of noise. He never appreciated not having kids until he heard them cry. It was always this high pitched, ungodly banshee-like scream that made him want to wrap his hands around their scrawny little throats and strangle the piss out of them. _Note to self: Never reproduce. Ever._ He had about an hour to kill before his flight left, and stood for a moment or two debating over whether to head to the bar and drink or sit and play with his iPhone. Hmm...WWMD?* She'd have the best of both worlds, that's what she'd do. He made his way to the bar, ordered a bloody mary, and busted out his vampire app. _Hmm...my vampires seem to be thriving. I've got a lot of slaves __and he had a really nice butt. They got into a fight with the werewolves and I lost two, but I took out four werewolves and he's got pretty eyes goddammit_I need another bloody mary please."

He didn't know why he'd asked for that guy's number. He was a kid. Well not really, he was almost out of college, but Buck didn't do well in relationships. He was bad at them the way he was bad at everything else, so socially awkward he would fuck them up impossibly as soon as look at them. Still, though, he had the kid's number, should he ever come back from Europe. Which he wasn't going to. But still. It wouldn't hurt to put it in his phone. He was in the slightly drunken process of attempting to add the number to his contacts when he realized he only had twenty minutes to get through baggage check and board the plane. Fuck. He grabbed his stuff and bolted over to the station, where two surly looking female guards were staring down a little old man.

"It's my metal plate from Normandy! I don't have nothing, I swear! Don't make me strip down to my skivvies!"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to please remove your sweater vest, belt, cell phone, dentures, and suspenders, and step to the side while we examine them for any explosive device."

Buck facepalmed. This was going to take forever, and he had a raise that was flying out on that 747 with or without him. He dug into his pocket and pulled out four twenties.

"Ladies, now I'm quite sure we're all people of good business sense right?"

The guards eyed him wearily, the old guy with desperate hope. Buck very calmly walked between the two of them, carefully slipping two twenties into each pocket. He smiled and raised first one eyebrow, then the other. "Come on, ladies, I've got a plane to board. Plus, I'm with the press. The news waits for no one, and what if there's a giant story and I'm not there to cover it?"

They both looked around and stuffed the money into their pockets, and walked away, whistling. Buck and the older gentleman both walked through, the metal detector ringing frantically for both of them.

"Thanks, young man. You did me such a favor. I certainly owe you one. So what'd it get you for?"

"Metal fillings. You?"

"I'm carrying a pipe bomb and 37 pounds of C4."

Buck laughed. Old people were such jokers. "Well, have a nice flight."

"You too, son."

He made his way over to the quo of people waiting to board. Of course there were an obscene number of kids on this flight. He wasn't sure why exactly he loathed them so much. Maybe it was their high, squeaky voices. Or maybe it was The Omen. Stupid little Antichrist shitface. He shuddered. Next to him, a little kid dug his finger in his nose and pulled out some brain matter, proceeding to smear it on the back of his dad's shirt. Ew.

As he made his way to his seat, he was awarded the opportunity to observe humanity at its finest. Watch as the woman with the cross necklace berates her husband and calls him a jackass for not moving out of her way fast enough. Take in the splendor as the older gentleman with a bible in his carry on takes the seizes the moment to seize the flight attendant's butt. Carpe glutius maximus. He found his seat and flopped down, thoroughly prepared to nap the entire flight. On a whim, he decided to go ahead and text Nicolai.

_Have a safe flight. _

_You too. Thanks. :)_

He grinned as he looked out the window. It was going to be a great flight.

*What Would Miley Do?


End file.
